


Supernova

by pantlesshero



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Fallen Castiel, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-08
Updated: 2013-07-08
Packaged: 2017-12-18 03:01:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,358
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/874896
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pantlesshero/pseuds/pantlesshero
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>On the third day, Castiel cried.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Supernova

**Author's Note:**

> so I wrote this like half a year ago, and was just about to tag it as AU - Canon when I realized that after the season finale it isn't AU any more.  
> cackles manically and flies into the sun

Angels thought themselves above anything human. Often times they thought themselves above anything but God. Which wasn't necessarily arrogance, as in some aspects they were right, they were heaven's warriors, old as time and yet not nearly as aged in strength or knowledge.

Not even Castiel was above this fault, after everything he had been through, after what he'd seen, it was still imprinted on his grace that he was somehow detached from everything else. Which was why he didn't fear his fall nearly as much as he should have, or as he would have if he had known what being human felt like.

On the third day, Castiel cried.

It had been a good three days. Better than either Castiel or the brothers would have thought, before, especially Dean.   
The former angel had known about human weakness; had experienced the restrictions of a body without wings, injury, even death, even attachment to another being. He had known about emotions.

Now, the dread he hadn't been able to feel before crept up on him; came belated, after three days of joy and ecstasy and pure, mindblowing amazement at everything he couldn't describe, not with his age-old, but non the less angelic mind. 

Nothing could have prepared him. Not even for simple amusement, and he realized how much it had put Dean off at first when he had burst out laughing at the most idiotic tv sketches the hunter had shown him on the day he fell, claiming that he needed to rest. Castiel hadn't bothered to tell him he was fine. He simply hadn't found it accurate, not with seething hot rage and laughter and love bubbling up inside him, all consuming, pushing and pulling at his skin, mesmerizing and terrifying and anything but fine. Yet, it had numbed the pain, or maybe there hadn't been any. For once. Castiel knew pain, but he didn't know human pain. Not then, he hadn't.

It didn't take him long to realize what this rough pull inside him was every time Dean walked by, how his smell somehow seemed to wrap itself around Cas' skin, slipping underneath and permanently imprinting itself onto his flesh. Cas wanted to look at him and smell like him and belong to him, more than he had, and somehow the thought that Dean would never agree to just take had made him want it all the more.

The only reason it hadn't gone anywhere at first had been Dean's stupidly stubborn pulse control and for a moment, Castiel had felt a pang inside of him that had been gone before he could have identified it as envy, another distraction having come up to pull in at least some of his new senses. 

On the day after his fall, Dean had seemed a little more put at ease for the first time when they had gone out for food, and Castiel remembered burgers but he hadn't tasted them back then, not like now. And when he had grinned around a far too enormous bite of meat and bread, vegetables and sauce, indulging in earthly pleasures that apparently only earth-lings could appreciate, Dean had smiled back and it had looked real.

It wasn't Cas' heavenly arrogance that had made him so sure of Dean's reciprocation of this insane desire inside of him, not that. He knew the hunter, had pulled him from below, put his body as well as his soul back together piece by piece, turned him inside out and read him a million times, but he hadn't understood back then. And now he did, and he had involuntarily shuddered at the thought of Dean intruding like he had. Even Sam's knowing frowns, his eyes resting on the back of Cas' head, making his neck itch and his skin sizzle with discomfort were just a glimpse of how Dean must have felt. Still, he couldn't truly feel sorry about it. Just, he had known then, and it had been infuriating and soothing at the same time, that at least one of the sentiments inside him showed a shred of patience, until Dean would cave and take what Cas so desperately wanted to give him.

That was the third day. Castiel had looked at him, stared, almost like he had before, though not quite as still and so much heavier in a completely different way. The second he had seen Dean's gaze flicker, his eyes stutter just a bit lower than they should have been, Castiel hadn't hesitated any longer and grabbed the hunter, dragging him with a strength that wasn't nearly what it had been, now, but it had been enough, oh father, had it been enough and Dean's lips had been pressing against his, pushing and pulling and demanding until Cas had wanted to bury himself in his smell and he could, and he would. 

Both of them gave in and Cas kept demanding, and talking, and mumbling until he had no words left because Dean had crushed him, and Castiel had been grateful, as it had kept his chest from bursting open and spilling everything his skin just wouldn't be able to contain forever, it was impossible. For a brief moment Castiel had wondered whether that was why humans had to die and angels didn't, but then he screamed and screamed until his throat was bone-dry. Dean had kissed him again, after, and Castiel had licked him open with the thirst of a man in a desert, Dean being the only water in miles and miles.

Only now, that the sky turned grey, purple, blue and then black, his sweat dried, the sticky, salty remains prickling on his skin, Castiel let out a shuddering breath and untangled himself from Dean's body, the warmth becoming too much to bear against the sudden, aching cold inside of him. He went downstairs, out on the chilly front porch, back inside, wandering around panting, desperately trying to breathe through the knot inside his throat, until he ended up in the safe room.   
It was so dark he couldn't see a thing, not with his eyes, and he lay down on the small bed, gingerly, boneless. 

The darkness was disconcerting in so many ways, like a blanket he couldn't see and couldn't touch, and he only really felt attached to the sheets underneath him. It was scary how the false emptiness around him made him feel alone and small and aching, all over.

The fast, consuming burn that had been sizzling inside of him for days finally pressed to the surface and made his eyes sting, hot and wet, until he was crying, and weeping and wailing, his nose running. It became almost impossible to breathe, and he heaved in between sobs, tears sticking to his cheeks only to be run over by new ones, his hair and pillow dampening quickly. Castiel wanted to ignore it, to simply not notice it, but there was nothing he couldn't notice and it all crushed down on him, splitting him open until he had his ears ringing with the amount of noise in the room, only a fraction actually coming from him, the walls echoing every quiet moan. His senses were flooded with everything Castiel had observed but not perceived and he was drowning.

It would be gone by the morning, when Dean would find him and wash away the salty tracks on his face, wrap him in his arms and make it better, sharing bits and pieces of his own demons with Cas along the way.

But now Castiel was gasping for air he had to breathe, with a heart that beat so fast because it had to, and he knew that he would never not know what it meant to need again. There was an ever-demanding vaccuum inside of him where his grace should have been, and it felt hotter and brighter and hurt so much more than being human should. But it did. And it would. 

For the second time, Castiel wondered whether it was the true reason people had to die, and for now he held onto the thought, and cried, and held on, and cried himself to sleep.


End file.
